The Child
by Isobel Morgan
Summary: Marion has a decision to make


**The Child**

Lady Marion of Leaford, formerly the wolfshead Queen of Sherwood, walked. Outwardly her appearance was composed, proper, the vision of the noble lady that she had reverted to – thanks to the hefty bribe her father had paid – but inwardly, she was bereft, desolate, near to despair in her mourning.

Her husband, her love, the man who was everything to her, was dead. Murdered. Brutally cut down by the Sheriff and his men, giving his life so that she and Much could escape. Part of Marion still wished that they had killed her too; maybe then she could find peace, instead of this broken existence, sleepwalking through a pretence of her old life. She knew that it was wicked to yearn for death, that it was an insult to God, but then she didn't feel much like a good Christian anymore. The thought of returning to Kirklees, to losing herself and her all-consuming pain in the quiet of the convent no longer held any comfort.

And so she walked. Her father, glad to have her returned safely to him, had been unwilling to allow her to leave Leaford Grange at first; whether this was through a fear for her safety or concern that she would flee into Sherwood never to be seen again, she was unsure. She had tried to be obedient to her father at first, but even a shattered heart could not tame her headstrong ways, and she had insisted.

Eventually, a compromise had been suggested; she could walk, but not ride, and she must be accompanied at all times. Marion had reluctantly agreed, hence the fact that stout Hilda was now trailing along behind her, huffing and puffing as she tried to keep pace with her charge.

In many ways, Marion was reminded of her childhood nurse; a disapproving but maternal woman, struggling to control the wilful girl who insisted on behaving in any way but that of a young lady. Not that Marion would be climbing trees or swimming in rivers anymore. She couldn't even raise within herself an attempt to give Hilda the slip so she could walk in solitude, though she knew she could do it easily.

Today, though, her thoughts were even more occupied than usual. Her grief had been so overwhelming, there had been no space for anything else, but recently, a realisation had begun to dawn that she could not ignore, one that did nothing but add to her pain and despair. They'd been so careful…

Never had Marion's knowledge of herbs been more valued than when it came to preventing conception. Not that she hadn't wanted his child; the thought of motherhood had been appealing ever since that desperate, ragged man had burst into her chamber with his eyes so beautiful, his rough charm and gentle spirit shining through, and stolen her heart. But living in Sherwood, constantly on the move and in danger, made it impractical, if not impossible, and so Marion had made sure that each time they lay together, both had consumed a mix of herbs to prevent any chance of pregnancy. She could not remember any time that they'd neglected this ritual, but their love had been so intense, their stolen moments of privacy together often hurried; somehow, life had found a way.

At first, the cessation of her courses had gone unnoticed; even if she had, she would have thought it due to the shock of her sudden widowhood. But when she'd tried on an old dress and it had split as her maid laced it, she had realised that her breasts had begun to swell. The meaning of these changes in her body was unmistakable.

She was with child.

Had this happened as little as a few months back, she would have been ecstatic. Despite the dangers, the risks of a pregnancy, the worries of how raising a child could have been combined with battling the Sheriff and his men, she would have been carrying the child of her heart, safe in the love of her husband and the protection of a group of men who would have given their lives to shield her from harm.

But now… She had no idea where the others were; gone far from Sherwood, if they had any sense. And her husband was dead, had not ever truly been her husband, if she admitted it to herself. Living in Sherwood, Herne's blessing had been enough to seal their union, but back in the real world, the lack of a church ceremony or official record meant that no-one would recognise her marriage as legal. And that made the babe she carried a bastard as well as the offspring of a wolfshead outlaw and a disgraced noblewoman. The very fact of this would have broken Marion's heart, had it not already have been rent into pieces by Robin's murder. Now, instead of proudly bearing her husband's child, she was an unmarried mother, the leman of an executed criminal and what little reputation her father had managed to salvage for her would be utterly destroyed. Not that she cared for herself, of course, she could have borne any shame and still held up her head, but she owed her father something for his devotion, the sacrifices he had made for her. This could not be concealed, and it would ruin him.

For days now she had agonised over what to do. Part of her ached to keep this child, to have something of his, a piece of his soul growing within her so that she did not have to be so alone. But she knew that she could not. Her dream the night before had spelled out all her fears about what would happen if she did. It had been so clear, so real, she wondered if it had been a dream at all, or a vision of what the future would be if she continued with the pregnancy:

_She was pacing her room, trying to maintain the pretence of illness that her father had created to cover for her condition. It had been over a month now, and her patience was already sorely tested – could she really survive confinement for another four? Assuming that no-one in the household gossiped and the truth got out, which was still highly likely. What would become of the child had still not been decided, was the cause of yet more arguments between Marion and her father._

_Sudden raised, angry voices echoed down the corridor to her room. Marion recognised her father, bellowing that this was his house, that someone had no right, her maid bleating that the lady was ill, not to be disturbed, but still, moments later, the door was flung open and Marion's blood froze in her veins as a nightmare came true before her._

"_Well," said Sir Guy, a triumphant smirk rising as he took in the sight before him; Marion leaning on the back of a chair for support, her condition evident even in her loose gown._

"_I heard that you had taken to your bed. I had assumed that meant alone, but I can see that I was wrong."_

_Fury overtook her fear, and Marion's hand flashed out to strike but the soldier was too quick for her. Catching hold of her wrist, twisting it painfully, Gisburne shoved her backwards to land heavily on her bed._

"_Take care, my lady," he spat, emphasising the insincerity of his last two words._

"_Marion!" Her father was struggling to reach her, but the men-at-arms blocked his way._

"_I'm alright, Father," she assured him, rising to her feet with the dignity of a queen. _

"_So," Gisburne gloated over her. "A wolfshead __and__ a whore. Quite-"_

"_This is my husband's child," Marion flung back at him, but Gisburne wasn't listening. _

"_I think the Sheriff will want to see you. Out of concern for you, of course. Not to mention your reputation, should this become common knowledge."_

"_You cannot do this!" Sir Richard shouted, but Gisburne overrode his protests._

"_I can do as I please!"_

_He gestured to his guards, who moved towards her with menace. Marion held her ground, not resisting as they seized her arms roughly._

"_Don't worry, Father," she called to Sir Richard as they dragged her out the door. Her maid, close to weeping, was trying to push a cloak into her hands as they passed her._

"_Alright, let her take it," Gisburne instructed. "In deference to your 'delicate' state, my lady."_

_Hatred seething through her, Marion took the cloak, stalking on ahead of the guards so they didn't grab her again. If she had to go, she wouldn't be dragged from her own home like a criminal._

_Ushered into the Great Hall of Nottingham Castle, Marion held up her head. She felt no shame at her situation. She knew the truth of it, why should she care what others thought? _

_The Sheriff didn't even look up as Gisburne announced her arrival, the triumph in his tone all too clear._

"_I asked you to keep an eye on her, Gisburne, not drag her across the countryside. Why is she here?"_

"_I discovered something that I thought you would want to see for yourself, my lord."_

_De Rainault raised his head to take her in, not really interested. _

_Trying to contain her anger, Marion untied her cloak, letting it slip down to reveal the evidence of her unborn child._

"_Well. I must say, Lady Marion, this is… unexpected."_

_Gisburne sniggered at the pun, although Marion failed to see the humour._

"_I trust this is your late husband's child?"_

_Marion maintained her silence, refusing to give in to the tumult of feelings within her._

"_It is, my lord." Gisburne spoke for her. "She admitted as much to me herself."_

_A terrible smile was growing on de Rainault's face. _

"_How unfortunate. For your reputation, I mean. After all, your father went to so much effort to regain it, and now this." _

_Marion's hands clenched into fists, but still she said nothing. _

"_Perhaps it would be best if you were to stay here under our… protection until your child arrives."_

"_No!" Marion's silence was broken by her horrified cry, but the Sheriff continued as if she hadn't spoken._

"_I'm thinking of your safety, of course. Robin Hood's widow means nothing, but the mother of his child… you know what strange ideas people get."_

_Marion understood, all too well. It had occurred to her that, should someone take up Robin's mantle, she could become a figurehead, something to be used in the fight. Already, there had been the man who had freed the other outlaws, a second Hooded Man. He had not been seen or heard from since, but the fear was there nonetheless._

_She couldn't let them keep her here; once born, the babe would be taken from her, maybe killed to prevent it growing up to take revenge on those who had slaughtered its father. Maybe she herself would be executed too. The Great Hall blurred, vanishing in a haze of further visions of these possible futures had danced before her, tormenting her -_

Until she'd woken in a cold sweat, heart pounding, her hands clutching the belly that, unlike in her dream, was still flat.

No, she knew what she must do. There were options, none appealing, none without danger to herself, but she had to act, and soon, before her secret was discovered.

She longed for her friends; if she must lose her husband, her love, then at least having her dear companions near could comfort her. But they had fled, scattered.

No rich father to buy forgiveness for them; even if Sir Richard could have afforded pardons for them all, no-one would have granted it. A useless girl was one thing, King John would never see her as a threat, but the others would have been hanged had they been discovered, even Tuck. The church had probably excommunicated him, so he could not claim sanctuary with them, and she had no idea where he was. She missed his comforting presence, the advice and support he always had for his 'little flower.'

No matter how she tried not to, she could imagine the delight she would have seen in all of them had she told them she was expecting a child. The excited grin illuminating Much's face, so like a brother to her. The enveloping hug John would have given her, the blessings from Tuck and Nasir, and Scarlet… Scarlet wasn't given to expressing positive emotions well, but he would have been pleased for her, congratulated her. And she knew that he would have killed anyone who threatened her, died to keep her and her child safe, if need be. They all would have.

And Robin… How would he have reacted to the news he was to be a father?

Again, joy and pride, but also fear; for her life and that of their child. Could she betray his memory by ridding herself of his flesh and blood? But she couldn't keep the child. It wouldn't be right or fair. Even if they both survived, and were somehow miraculously left alone, what kind of life could she offer it?

But how to go about it? She knew of a few herbal solutions to try, but not their effectiveness; after all, it wasn't the sort of thing taught to young ladies, even unconventional ones such as herself. And she had to be discreet, couldn't risk news of her condition reaching her father. She doubted poor, beleaguered Sir Richard could cope with much more from his wayward daughter.

Suddenly, her heart ached for Herne. The Church offered no aid or support to those in her situation, but the forest god would help her, wouldn't he? His guidance could be opaque at times, but he had acted to save their lives more than once. Would he urge her to keep the child of his adopted son, or would he assist her?

Marion paused, taking in her surroundings. Herne's forest domain reached far and wide; he could be anywhere at any time. Would he hear her, if she called?

She glanced back down the hill to where Hilda was struggling to catch her up, grumbling all the way at how undignified it was for her to be scrambling around like a mountain goat, at her age too, all because the lady wasn't satisfied with keeping to the grounds of the estate.

Seizing the opportunity – Hilda was engaged in freeing her voluminous skirts from a sprawling bramble patch – Marion ran. Ducking through the trees with a practised ease, holding her fine dress out of the way of the branches as she'd never had to when she was an outlaw, Marion was quickly out of the sight of her gaoler.

Coming to a halt at the foot of an ancient oak, Marion closed her eyes and called to the god with all her being. Her pain and grief poured out of her in a silent cry, beseeching him to help her in her desperate need. She'd been the wife of Herne's son. Didn't that count for something? She'd done everything bidden of her, but since Robin's death, there had been nothing but silence from Herne, not even to take Albion back. He may be mourning the loss of his son, but he was a god. He had responsibilities. And that included her.

The stillness in the forest was unnatural. Even the birds had quieted their song, the wind barely stirring the leaves so that Marion could only hear her own quickened breathing. Resting against the tree, she opened her eyes, and there was Herne.

For a moment, she felt the old flash of fear within her at his almost supernatural appearance, but as he removed his headdress and became a man before her, it faded.

He looked tired and drawn, as if the strain of losing Robin had aged him.

"Welcome, daughter," he greeted her. She approached him, knelt at his feet to receive his blessing. At the touch of his hand on her head, she felt a little of her overwhelming sorrow lift; he was here, at least. Even if he couldn't help her, it was better than nothing.

Herne raised her to her feet, placing a gentle hand over her middle. It had yet to expand with the child, but she felt a startling spark at his touch.

"I know why you have come," he said. "I heard your cry long before you came here. It is a heavy burden you carry, daughter."

Marion said nothing. Now that she was here, she was no longer sure if she could ask him to help her be rid of the babe.

"I understand your misgivings. But you are correct. This is not the right time for your child to be born."

Puzzled by his response, Marion opened her mouth to speak, but Herne raised a hand, silencing her.

"I can help you. Come with me."

The forest god led her to a cave, little more than a rude fissure within the rock, and bade her lie down on a bed of moss.

He asked her to calm herself within, to quiet her mind, and then returned a few minutes later with a wooden cup, which he gave to her.

"Drink this."

Pushing aside her doubts, Marion obeyed, swallowing the bitter mixture with a grimace. She lay back down, closing her eyes, resting her hands over where the baby was growing inside her as she waited for the ritual to commence. Despite all efforts to remain calm, miserable tears escaped from her eyes. She trusted Herne implicitly, but whatever happened, the outcome would leave her alone again, bereft. Every fibre of her being was crying out to her not to go through with this, but it was too late; already, she could feel the potion beginning to take effect.

Herne had sent her visions before, it was not an unrecognisable experience, but this was stronger, deeper, more frightening. It gripped her, darkness wrapping itself around her, and she felt herself leaving her body, floating free within a bewildering sea of images and sensations.

_Robin's face appeared before her and she cried out to him, reaching out to touch him. For a moment he remained stubbornly out of reach, then she was rewarded with his presence. His arms went around her in an embrace and she felt a great joy flood through her at his apparent return._

"_I thought I'd lost you," she wept, refusing to let him go._

"_I missed you," he replied, stroking her hair, as she'd loved him to do in life. _

"_I can't live without you. I tried, but I can't."_

"_You must." His voice was quiet, calm but firm. _

"_How can I?"_

_He leaned back, still holding onto her, looking into her eyes._

"_Because you have to. Life isn't easy, you know that."_

"_But not this! Anything, no matter what, I could have faced anything if you were there beside me. Without you, I can't go on."_

"_But you matter, Marion. You can't give up. There's too much to be done."_

_Marion stared back at him, her eyes wet with tears._

"_What can I do? I'm alone."_

"_Hush, my love."_

_Robin pulled her tight against his chest again, her tears soaking into his jerkin. _

"_You won't always be alone. Be strong."_

_Marion felt the world shifting around her and clung tighter to her husband, ignoring the other visions that tugged at her senses. She wouldn't let him go, wouldn't lose him again…_

Marion awoke, cold.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, letting reality seep back in. The cave was empty; Herne nowhere to be seen. She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort and warmth, one hand straying to her middle. Had Herne kept his word? Had she lost the child?

Rising to her feet, Marion felt a searing pain flash through her, causing her to grab the cave wall for support, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a familiar cramping in her belly. The practical part of her mind taking over, she tore a section of her underskirt away to stem the blood that was flowing between her legs, as it would through any natural miscarriage. Perhaps she had hoped that Herne would somehow spirit the baby away, but now she was here, experiencing it, she realised that of course this was how it would be. The burden had been lifted from her, and now she must deal with the consequences.

Dizzy and sick, she left the cave, calling out aloud for the attendant she had not so long ago escaped from.

"Hilda!"

For a while, there was no reply. Then, faintly, she could hear the other woman calling back.

"My lady! Where are you, my lady?"

"Here!"

Marion struggled towards the voice, leaning on trees as she passed. The pain was worse, but bearable. She would cope. She had to.

"My lady!"

Breathless, Hilda came floundering towards her. Her skirt was badly torn and her white cap was crooked on top of her flushed face.

"Where did you go, my lady? I've been searching for an age!"

"I felt unwell," Marion gasped, half in truth. "I must have fainted. I only just awoke."

A wave of sickness rose up within her, and she could not stop herself from vomiting against the base of a tree.

"Goodness my lady! We must get you home!"

Hilda flapped and bustled around her, achieving nothing but perhaps making herself feel more useful.

"Now, perhaps you will see the wisdom of heeding your lord father's words and staying within the lands of the Grange!"

Wearily, Marion nodded, following the servant woman back down the hill towards home.

"Marion! What happened?"

Her father's concerned face swam before her as they entered the manor, and Marion felt a stab of guilt at worrying him so.

"I'm alright. I just… felt unwell out walking. I need to lie down."

"Of course, of course. But no more walking so far. I need to keep you safe, child. These are uncertain times."

Marion, too dizzy to argue, collapsed gratefully on her bed, drawing the covers around her.

No-one would ever know that she had once carried the child of Robin Hood, lost in a rush of blood, deep in the forest. She would bury that knowledge within her and tell no-one, mourning now both the death of her husband and the loss of their child. Herne had rescued her, but not mended her broken heart. Not even time would do that, but perhaps the vision of her lost love had spoken the truth.

There was still so much to do; not that she could achieve anything alone, but maybe one day there would be others to help her. Others who would fight. She couldn't give up, couldn't allow everything they'd fought for and sacrificed to go in vain.

Robin Hood was dead, but the Hooded Man, he would come again, one day.

In her mind, she recalled Robin's words, channelled from Herne but with especial resonance to him.

"Nothing's forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten."

Curled in her bed, Marion hugged herself tighter. If it was all she could do, it was to ensure that that was true, that Robin was not forgotten, as maybe others wished him to be.

He had been her husband, her love, her everything.

He would not be forgotten.


End file.
